


Reaching Out, Touching Me, Touching You

by 3amepiphany



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, my undying love for neil diamond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 10:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19171186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3amepiphany/pseuds/3amepiphany
Summary: Hand-holding. The outright AUDACITY.





	Reaching Out, Touching Me, Touching You

**Author's Note:**

> For Samy. Thank you for supporting me. <3

The smell was irresistible and it was then that Yuri realized that they hadn't had dinner yet. What a better time than to do so here at the night market they’d stumbled across while wandering through Edmonton, though first they had to hunt down which of the many stalls that specific smell was coming from as it was exactly what he wanted to eat. Otabek thought that maybe it might be donair, but as he started to walk in the direction of a stall that was selling it, Yuri decided at the last second that they should look around instead and see what else might be had. He took Otabek’s hand and pulled him towards a stall that was selling mounds of spiral-cut potatoes, fried up and covered in many different toppings. 

Two stalls later Yuri felt the hand in his shift a bit, their fingers intertwining now, and he gave it a little squeeze as the two of them quietly regarded the menu of tea drinks available.

Otabek spent some time rubbing and petting his thumb against the palm of Yuri's hand and his fingers over the younger skater’s knuckles, sort of exploring, gently. It felt marvelous, even if it was a little distracting. They walked past several vendors this way and Yuri could barely remember what had been offered at each successive stall. There was even a moment where the sleeve of Yuri’s hoodie fell down, and Otabek didn’t seem to let it bother him at all, and Yuri wished he could pull Otabek right inside the soft interior of the hoodie with him. It became Otabek’s turn to tug him onwards, past the kettle corn and candied nuts. Eventually they made their way down to the stall that had that delicious, tart but still earthy smell to the meat that was marinating and cooking on the flat-top grill, and they embarrassingly freed their hands up long enough to place and pay for an order of a donair each and a poutine that rivaled the potato plates from the first vendor; they shuffled themselves and their wallets a bit before concluding that Otabek would pick this meal up for them while Yuri stuffed a toonie from his pocket into the tip jar. They didn’t take each other’s hands back up again, and Yuri let his hands disappear into the sleeves of his hoodie, and definitely made to hide in the hood a little bit as well.

Sitting down with a couple of bottles of soda at an empty table nearby and digging into the food with plenty of napkins to catch the mess of dripping sauces and gravy, Yuri could feel Otabek pointedly watching him, paying close attention. It probably didn’t help that he was trying to watch everything else but Otabek. He knew he was making a deal out of it all.

“Having fun?” the older skater ventured after some time.

Around a particularly large cheese curd, Yuri said, “Of course. It’s good to go sightseeing with little worry about competition.” He waited to swallow before saying something more. “...You have really rough hands.”

Otabek laughed. “Okay.”

“What’s funny?”

"Truthfully I was worried for a moment. Thought you might be mad at me.”

Yuri gestured with his spork, shrugging a bit. “For?”

“Not holding your hand again while we waited.”

“Why were you holding my hand anyways?”

But Otabek already had another bite of food in his mouth, and he looked like he was about to spit it all out laughing some more. He gave Yuri a sidelong glance as he took a big swig of his soda. He cleared his throat, a smile at the corner of his lips that seemed to appear with a dab of a napkin. "You grabbed me. Why were _you_ holding _my_ hand, Yura? Hm?"

"...Was that not okay? Should I have asked first?"

"I kept holding your hand after, I was okay with it."

"Okay."

"Was I not supposed to?"

"It was okay for me, too," Yuri said, cracking the lid of his soda open and playing with the cap but not really drinking from the bottle yet. He eyed Otabek instead, glad he wasn't mad at him for not asking, or for being weird. “When we go to the conservatory tomorrow, would you hold my hand like that again? ...If it’s not weird.”

Otabek agreed. Then he said, "You play too many video games."

"What?"

"You have a callus on your thumb from either buttons, or a joystick."

They got back to their hotel room late, and put a movie on while they readied for bed. They'd been well settled in under the comforter with a cheap gas station beer and a sports drink to share between them when Mila texted Yuri, reminding him to check in with everyone in the morning. He set his phone aside with a sigh. There were a few quiet beats (as the movie had gone silent, too) before Otabek's hand slid over and took his own. He looked over at him curiously.

"Technically it's tomorrow, I just don't want to lose you before we get to the conservatory," Otabek said, not even waiting for Yuri to ask about it.

He couldn't argue with that, so he didn't. Instead, he let his own thumb and fingers wander around Otabek’s hand, feeling at each bump and crease, playing a little bit and stretching their fingers out a bit, back and forth and against one another. He brought their arms up on their elbows so he could take a better look at the way their fingers tangled together, and how their tendons and joints moved in tandem and in comparison.

“I do a lot of my own work on the motorcycle. The throttle, the brake, the grips… all of that is pretty easily the main cause. And hauling all of my music gear around, too, come to think of it. It’s not always just a simple little laptop and a monitor and some cords. Sometimes it’s a crate or two of albums, sometimes it’s my professional stand or a table,” Otabek said when Yuri repeated his earlier comment, and it made sense. “Yours are very soft, though, otherwise. Like the paw pads of a little kitten.”

Now that he could argue with. And he did.


End file.
